Boundaries
by Willum
Summary: Buffy and gang aren't the only ones investigating a series of killings that seem to be the work of a demon...nor are they the only ones affected by it...


Buffy, The Vampire Slayer

"Boundaries"

The door to the Magic Box crashed open with a resounding bang, its tiny bell dinging like crazy as Xander half rushed, half stumbled into the store, his eyes wide with frenzy. Anya trailed in behind him, looking bored as usual, and closed the door.

"Buffy," said Xander to a glaring Giles. "Where's Buffy? Her mom said she was over here."

"Thank you for being so careful with my door upon your entrance," said Giles. "It is so refreshing to see my business being treated with respect for a change."

"What? Giles, we've got a problem."

"Oh, I see," retorted Giles, his tone becoming very prim and proper. "And of course that supercedes any considerations to ones personal property. What on earth was I ever thinking, putting my personal concerns before the greater good of…what kind of a problem?"

"Someone got killed last night," said Anya, absently.

"Violently, mercilessly, demonically, the killer isn't a human kind of killed," added Xander, eyeing Anya.

Giles took the paper that Xander held out to him, unfolding it to read the large headline on the front page. **_SERIAL KILLER IN SUNNYDALE?_** Asked the headline, a black and white photo beneath it showing a covered body that was being proclaimed the second victim within two days. Giles went on to read the article, the paper wondering if the discovery of a second victim, killed in a grisly though undisclosed manner, indicated what the police were unwilling to confirm; that a serial killer was on the loose in Sunnydale.

"Well, as tragic as this is, it hardly points to something that Buffy should be investigating," commented Giles. "Serial killers do exist, and they fall under the jurisdiction of the police."

"Do you remember Richie Golden?" asked Xander, his eyes still wide with excitement.

"No."

"Of course you don't," remembered Xander. "I quit hanging with him after grade school."

"Is there a point to this?"

"Yes! I ran into him downtown…" started Xander.

"He interrupted our breakfast," pointed Anya, looking perturbed.

"Sweetie."

"I finally let you talk me into trying that Eggs Ala Chili thing you're always going on about, and then you drag me away before it's even ready, just because this Richie guy said something you didn't like."

Xander started to say something, but, shaking his head, decided to forget it, and turned back to face Giles.

"Can we please get to the point?" asked Giles.

"Richie's working as a trainee in the Coroner's Office, some sort of school program…"

"What a novel idea," commented Giles, dryly.

"And he let slip about these two murders," continued Xander. "The victims had their hearts, eyes, and livers _removed._"

Giles blinked rapidly at this revelation.

"Not that that news did much for my appetite," added Anya.

"Savagely removed," finished Xander.

"Uh, well, yes, that is rather disturbing."

"Giles. Heart. Eyes. Livers. Demon stew. Am I the only one seeing the evil in this?"

"Very well, this does merit further investigation, yes, but we can't go running off half cocked."

"Oh, Xander's never that," cooed Anya, leaning up against him and smiling.

"Not now, dear," said Xander, blushing and looking rather uncomfortable.

"Buffy's performing a few errands for me," said Giles, already looking thoughtful. "We'll need Willow, perhaps she can access the official records of the autopsy."

"Hack, Giles," said Xander. "Not access, hack."

"I was trying to be polite."

"Hearts, eyes, livers. It's not the time to be polite."

"Do you have to keep bringing that up?" asked Anya. "I've already figured that we're not having breakfast, and you're starting to make me not want lunch."

"Anya."

"Go home?" she asked, looking sorrowful and hurt.

"No," said Xander, somewhat surprised that she would think he still thought that way. "Why don't you start looking through the books for something that's like what we're looking for?"

"Okay," she beamed. Then, looking confused, she asked "what are we looking for?"

"A demon that likes pieces of human in its stew."

"Oh, yeah."

"That's not a narrow enough search parameter," informed Giles. "Most demons would be happy to have such ingredients in their…er…meal. You must search for mention of those specific bits of anatomy."

"Ew," moaned Anya.

"As distasteful as that may be," consoled Giles, smiling weakly.

"Anya will start hitting the books, you'll get a hold of Willow, and I'll do the old fashioned beating the sidewalk bit," said Xander.

"What, exactly, does that curtail?" asked Giles.

"That means, my inexperienced in American film noir English friend, that I'll do the private eye scene."

Giles just looked at him quizzically.

"I'll find Richie and see if I can get some more information out of him," elaborated Xander.

"Why didn't you just say that?"

Speilman dropped down into the wooden chair with a grunt, knowing that it wouldn't be a pleasant sensation to his tired back but not caring, and started going through the thick folder that had been waiting for him on his desk. Rushing back from the first vacation that he had taken in six years hadn't done his relationship with Terri any good, but he was sure he could smooth it over…like he had so many times in the past. She was an understanding woman, she had to be considering that she was dating one of Sunnydale's prime detectives, but he was wondering if he was nearing the boundaries of her understanding.

He felt that he loved her, or that at least it was as close to love that he had ever felt, and he was starting to think that perhaps his police work would once again put an end to a blossoming relationship. The fact that she had stuck with him for nearly a year was a statement to her sense of commitment, but he knew that there were still limits to how many times a person would let themselves be put on the back burner.

Sighing inwardly, knowing in his heart that he would always put the job before himself, Speilman opened the folder and grimaced at the picture that greeted him. The first killing, from two nights ago, was originally being handled by his partner, but when this second one had turned up he had immediately been paged by Commissioner Travis. Serial killers were things that happened in other parts of the country, not in small cities like Sunnydale, and Speilman was hating it already.

The second victim, Angela Meryick, had been found in her kitchen by her husband. Joe Meryick had been devastated, unable to accept the fact that he had blissfully slept through the savage murder of his wife, safe and sound on the second floor of their home. The man was staying with relatives, unwilling to return to the house that he saw as violated, already showing signs of a near breakdown.

Speilman doubted that Joe Meryick would last long without the close supervision of family and friends. More than likely, Speilman would get a phone call one day, a call to investigate an apparent suicide, and he would find Joe Meryick dead by his own hand, ultimately unable to deal with what had happened.

So many times the crime had repercussions that carried on far past the actual act.

"Distance, Dave," Speilman whispered to himself, flipping through the photos of Angela Meryick's ultimate fate.

Cursing the detail of the digital images, Speilman wished that Kodak was still the choice of the forensics unit. He hated the clarity of the scenes before him, the grim splashes of color that were evidence to the violence of the woman's death, even if they may prove to offer clues that were as of yet undetected.

Both forensics and the coroner had no knowledge of what type of weapon had been used, the wounds ragged enough that the use of a bladed instrument had already been ruled out. That conclusion didn't leave them many options, and none of them were pleasant to think about. It was possible that the killer had used his, or her, bare hands, but that leaned towards a person with above average strength and creeped into X-Files territory. Speilman had seen many bizarre things in his tenure on Sunnydale's police force, but nothing yet that made him except the supernatural as easily as some of the others.

The first victim, an elderly man by the name of Donald Carpenter, had been found by his son, sprawled across the floor of his workshop. Donald had retired to Sunnydale just two short years ago, spending most of his time crafting wooden lawn ornaments that he sold from his garage, a tiny sign posted by the driveway calling out to potential customers. Chris Carpenter had come to Sunnydale to visit his father, expecting a pleasant week a head of him and his family, only to find his life forever changed.

_I'm really starting to hate this job,_ thought Dave Speilman, swallowing hard.

Though a small town, Sunnydale was rather spread out, and it wasn't surprising that neither of the victims had the same friends listed. Frustrating, and another dead end in the investigation, but not surprising. There had to be some connection, some similarity that the two shared that was the basis for being chosen by the killer. Speilman only hoped that he would find out what that connection was before a third victim was found by a loved one, their body violated in such an unspeakable manner.

"Morning, Dave," came the voice of Anna Long, Speilman's partner.

At twenty-seven, Anna was the second youngest detective on Sunnydale's limited police force, losing to Dave by just six months. Though she was definitely a very attractive lady, with soft features that seemed to glow, and a smile that softened even the hardest heart, Anna chose to dress mostly in sweats and other baggy clothes. She relied on her skills to see her progress through the ranks of the police department, saving her beauty for those she decided deserved to see it. She wasn't above using it to her advantage, rather enjoying the manipulation of men which she seemed to be very good at, but it was a trait that she kept in reserve.

"Hi, Anna," responded Dave, taking a cup of coffee from Anna's outstretched hand.

"I was hoping to get in here before you."

"Why?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. "There's no way you could have softened this one up."

Anna smiled at him sadly. She often felt like an older sister to the barely younger man, and as such, was constantly trying to ease things for him. She had no doubts in his abilities, she merely felt bad seeing him going through the same things that she seemed to always go through.

"This town's seen a lot of strange things. A set of school violence statistics that put the national average to shame, though that seems to have tapered off in the last two years. Acts of mass, unexplained violence. And the disappearance rate! That alone triples the national average yet once again."

"But never a serial killer," said Anna, knowing where he was going with his ramble.

"But never a serial killer," he confirmed. "I don't like this, Anna."

"Who would?"

"No. There's something else about this that seems…creepy."

"Calling anything in Sunnydale creepy is an understatement."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," he conceded, leaning forward and pulling some sheets out of the Meryick folder. "Ready to do some real detective work?"

Xander poked his head through the door of the Coroner's office, looking about for any sign of habitation. The office, actually one of three that were interconnected, was devoid of life, everyone apparently out for some reason. He specifically recalled that Richie said he had to work today, part of his training program, and that he'd be here all afternoon. Deciding to wait around a little while, hoping that Richie would show up, Xander stepped on into the office and began looking about.

There were doors on either side of the room, one marked "Coroner" the other marked "Assistant Coroner", this office apparently a reception area, and Xander tried both the other doors. They were, not surprisingly, locked, and he concentrated on the numerous filing cabinets filling the reception area. Not even half way through the thick layer of files in the top drawer of the first cabinet, Xander gave up his search, knowing full well that paper work was not in his blood.

"Who would have thought that the Sunnydale's Coroner's office would have so many files on dead people?" he wondered aloud.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded a deep voice.

Xander spun around, looking sheepish, and saw an elderly, balding man sporting glasses standing in the doorway. Wearing the classic white lab coat and carrying a clipboard heavy with papers, the man reminded Xander of the evil, terrible experiment carrying out doctor of so many video games.

"I asked you who you are," said the man, looking angry.

"Oh, oh, oh!" exclaimed Willow, waving her hands in the air and looking up at the others. "I've got the records."

Giles was behind her instantly, Anya, and Tara crowding in beside him as they squinted at the tiny page being displayed on her laptop. The only print large enough for them to see, none of them facing the screen directly, was the seal of the Coroner's office and a proclamation that this was a private, and official record.

"What's it say?" asked Giles, squinting at the screen.

"Oh, um, not much really," related Willow. "They don't know what kind of weapon was used yet…"

"Don't they have demon claws on file?" asked Anya.

"But…oh, my God," said Willow, her voice trailing off into a whisper.

"What's wrong?" asked Tanya, her voice full of concern.

"It… It says that the Coroner is pretty certain that these people were alive when, when, when…"

"Please don't read anymore," instructed Giles, trying to turn Willow from the screen. "I'll have a go at it."

"No. I'll be okay. Really," said Willow, uncertainly.

"When what?" asked Anya, not putting things together. "They were still alive when…oh."

Anya paled slightly, realizing what Willow had been meaning. Though she had been a demon, and still retained her memories of that previous life, Anya had quickly fallen away from that type of thinking and sometimes became so immersed in her human existence that she forgot what being a demon was mostly about.

The front door jangled open and Buffy entered the shop, her arms laden with paper bags from her errands for Giles, and she immediately noted the expressions on her friends faces.

"What's wrong?" asked Buffy, knowing that she wasn't going to like the answer.

"Thanks very much," said Speilman as the door closed in his face.

Turning, trotting down the stairs in frustration, Dave turned left and headed down the sidewalk towards his car. He hoped that Anna had had better luck than himself, the neighbors getting more and more belligerent with each follow-up interview.

You would think that these people would be open and friendly, willing to do what ever they could to help the police catch whoever had done this to someone that lived on the very same street that they did. Instead, they were angry and frightened, wanting to know why the police hadn't captured this maniac already, and why they were wasting their time talking to innocent citizens that were too terrified to go out at night.

Spotting Anna coming from the opposite direction, he noted that she wore the same expression that he was sure was on his face, and he knew that they were no where closer to finding a link between the two victims.

"Kinda makes you wonder why we keep doing this," she said, reading him expertly.

"Aren't you too young to be a cynic?" chided Dave, climbing into the car and starting it up.

"Afraid that it'll be closing in on you next?" she tossed back at him.

"Already there," he said, pulling into traffic. "I just hide it better."

"Same old song and dance," she said. "One of them did recall that Mister Carpenter recently hired a man to do some yard work for him, but he didn't know who the guy was."

"Did you get a description?'

She glared at him with a _how dare you ask that_ expression, and he smiled broadly in response.

"Well, we can put it out. Maybe this guy saw something, whether he knows it or not."

"Think we should see if the Meryick's had a guy that was doing yard work for them?"

Dave looked at her, surprised that she even had to ask that question.

"I know, it's a given."

"Did you ever read 'The Lawnmower Man' by Stephen King?" asked Dave as made a left turn to take them back towards the station.

"Wasn't that that movie with that guy that plays James Bond?" asked Anna. She loved teasing him about his knowledge of movies and books.

"Yes and no," he replied, not being in the mood to rise to her teasing at the moment. "The movie was nothing like the book."

"So elaborate," she nudged, picking up on his bad mood.

"It was about a yard worker that turned out to be a demonic God."

"You think Sunnydale has a demonic God running around, offering to do people's yards, then killing them? My friend, what ever you do, don't even think of suggesting that to the Commissioner."

"I was thinking more a long the lines of a psychotic lawn boy."

"Uh huh. And only two killings, and one account of a new yard man to make you come up with that theory. You should have stayed on vacation."

"What say we go try to talk to Joe Meryick and see what he says?" asked Dave, already turning the car in a different direction.

"I think you've made that decision."

"That's why I like having you as a partner, Anna. We think so much alike."

Anna just rolled her eyes and decided to keep her silence for the remainder of the ride.

"I'm Xander Harris," Xander said, feeling like a mouse in a trap. He had no idea who the man was, but he was already feeling greatly intimidated by him.

"And that means what to me?" asked the man, stepping into the office and pulling a set of keys from his pocket.

"I was looking for Richie Golden," explained Xander. "He's a friend of mine."

"Can't say I think much of Richard's chosen company," said the man, looking Xander up and down.

"Now just a…"

"Richard's down stairs," growled the man, unlocking the door marked Coroner. "He's helping Blair finish cleaning up from an autopsy."

"From the murder last night?" blurted Xander, not thinking.

"Who are you?" repeated the man. "You aren't with the police, I know them all. What are you, some sort of dead groupie?"

Xander looked shocked and repulsed at the idea.

"Look," started the man before Xander could even think of a reply. "If you want to talk to Richard, do it on his time, not the county's."

"But…"

"And don't be trying to get confidential information from him. It'll get both of you in trouble, and him fired."

The door slammed shut, leaving Xander standing with a raised finger as he tried to think of something to say that would have gotten past the old man's demeanor.

"Oh yeah," mumbled Xander.

The door whisked open, the man stuck his head out and said "yeah." The door then slammed shut even harder, the glass left rattling in the frame.

"Well, okay then," said Xander, backing towards the main door. Xander turned to exit and ran into a young, red haired man, and let out a cry of surprise.

"Xander?" asked Richie.

"Richie," exclaimed Xander, thankful to have run into his old friend. "I need to talk to you. It's important."

"On his own time!" yelled the old man from the other room.

"Come by the Magic Shop after work," instructed Xander, stumbling out of the room. "It's very important."

"Okay," agreed Richie, nodding in confusion as he watched Xander run down the hallway.

Joe Meryick sat in the darkened den of his brother-in-law's house, the room turned over to him for the time being, and finished off the bottle of whiskey that he had started only an hour ago. Ten years he had been married, nearly all of them happy, and he had been certain that he and Angela would've had a life time together, forever relishing in each others love. Joe knew that he had died himself, feeling empty and cold ever since he had stumbled upon his wife's brutally butchered corpse early this morning.

Nothing would ever be the same for him again. His life, his love, his reason for being had been ripped from him in an act of violence so savage that he hated the entire human race right now. What kind of beings were they that they could turn out one of their own who was capable of such acts? What right did any of them have to live, when anyone of them might turn out a thing that was more monster than human? A thing that at any time might turn someone else's life into a hellish nightmare of suffering?

What reason did he have to continue living? What reason did he have to continue facing a world that could turn out such a being?

"What in the hell am I waiting for?" he asked himself, his speech slurred, his eyes falling on the revolver laying in his lap.

Andy, his brother in-law, had showed Joe the gun years ago, kept in the bottom drawer of his desk, and Joe had retrieved it from there before he had even begun on the bottle. The .38 was a cold piece of comfort that Joe believed offered salvation from his pain, a permanent escape from the horror that his life had become, and a way to be reunited with his beloved wife.

"I miss you so much," he whispered, looking upward. "Oh, God, Angela…it hurts so bad."

Tears streamed down his eyes, the alcohol having nothing to do with their existence, and Joe tried to wipe them away with the back of his hand. The emptiness was tearing at his soul already, slowly breaking down the man that he had once been, and he knew that there would be no climbing out of the dark abyss that he was spiraling down.

He raised the gun to his head, thumbing back the hammer as he placed the tip of the barrel against his temple. His senses suddenly became sharp and clear, his heart beat thundering in his ears, and he closed his eyes to shut out the world. He couldn't go on like this, without her by his side, and he was prepared to do what ever he had to in order to find the peace that he had once known.

As his finger began to tighten on the trigger, he was suddenly aware of footsteps in the hallway outside of the den. There was a murmur of voices, unfamiliar persons conversing with his brother in-law, and Joe quickly lowered the gun, covering it within the confines of his robe.

Light streamed into the room as the door slowly opened, Andy sticking his head in and calling out to see if Joe was awake.

"I'm here, Andy," said Joe, his voice trembling slightly.

"There are two detectives here," said Andy, stepping into the room and turning on the light. "They'd like to talk to you about Angela."

"Okay," acknowledged Joe, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Dave and Anna stepped quickly into the room, Andy slowly retreating back into the hallway. With a polite nod to the detectives, he told Joe to call out if he needed anything, then quietly closed the door.

"Mister Meryick," said Dave, nodding in greeting. "I'm Detective Speilman. I believe you met my partner, Detective Long, this morning."

"Yeah," said Joe.

"We're sorry to bother you, sir," offered Anna. "But we were wondering if you could tell us if you and your wife made use of a lawn care service."

"What?" asked Joe, confused by the question. "What has that got to do with all of this?"

"We're trying to cover all possible angles, Mister Meryick," said Dave. "We're hoping to find some connection between your wife's death and that of another man the previous night."

"My wife's death?" snorted Joe, his face flushing red with anger. "Is that how you put it? Don't you mean my wife's murder? My wife's savage, and ruthless end to life? How in the hell can you belittle it to my wife's death!?!"

Dave and Anna held their peace, both more than willing to give the man a brief opportunity to vent his rage and grief. They understood how he was feeling, though they both prayed never to experience it first hand, and knew that he was lashing out the only way he could. They could endure his verbal assault, ignoring the tongue lashing that he dished out, if it ment helping him find his own road to overcoming this.

"Yeah," said Joe, after a few moments of awkward silence in which he had been busy wiping tears from his face. "Yeah, we had a guy that took care of the lawn for us."

"White male, approximately twenty-five, five-eleven, with blonde hair and brown eyes. Kind of a muscular build, like a football player?" asked Anna, reading the description she had been given by the neighbor of Mister Carpenter.

"Yeah," nodded Joe. "Uh, Timms…Simms…Binns! That's his name, Binns. That's what it said on the side of his truck, Binns Lawn Service."

"Do you have any other information that you could give us?" asked Dave, fighting down the excitement that he was beginning to feel. "An address or phone number?"

"No," said Joe, more quickly than he had been answering their questions. "He just drove up one day last week and asked…and asked Angela about trying his services. We thought it might be a good idea."

"This Binns could be a suspect," said Dave, "but don't jump to any conclusions, Mister Meryick. It is very possible that he just serviced both you, and the other victim."

"Oh, I know that," said Joe, a flatness to his voice that hadn't been there before.

"We'll let you know as soon as we have a talk with this Binns," said Anna, turning to the door.

"Yes, please do," said Joe. "I'd like to know what comes of it."

Once outside of the house, Dave and Anna discussed their options. They immediately put in a call to the Coroner's office to have him begin comparing the wounds to possible gardening and lawn care tools. They then asked if there was a listing for a Binns Lawn Service, and found that there wasn't one.

"Back to square one," griped Dave.

"Do you think he lied about knowing anymore about this Binns?" asked Anna, having picked up on the change in Joe's tone.

"Revenge can be a powerful healing force," said Dave, knowing what Anna was getting at.

"So what do we do?"

"Well, we could sit around and wait to see if Meryick tries to sneak off somewhere…"

"Or?"

"Or we could go back to Carpenter's and see if we might have missed something like a business card."

"Since we don't want to ask Mister Meryick for permission to search his house, right?"

"Not unless we have to."

"Okay. Want to call and have someone watch this place?"

"Yeah, we better. Let's see if Jenson's free. He's a sneaky bastard when it comes to trailing people."

"Orca?" asked Buffy.

"Orka," corrected Giles, reading the entry that Anya had found in one of the many thick, leather bound tomes that made up Giles library.

"That's what I said," she stressed. "Orca."

Rolling his eyes slightly, Giles laid the book on the table, removed his glasses and pointed to the inked picture that depicted the demon. "Orka, not Orca. It's a demon, not a killer whale."

"There's a killer whale named Orca?" asked Willow, confused.

"Never mind," said Giles, sorry that he had brought the whole matter up. Perhaps he needed to update his repertoire of movie references. "Orka is a demon of power, granting success and fortune to those that bring him victims."

"But these people were killed in their homes," pointed out Buffy. "They weren't taken to anyone."

"Yes, well, perhaps the summoner is taking Orka to the victims instead of the other way around."

"Has anyone in Sunnydale recently become rich and successful?" asked Anya. "Maybe a lottery winner did it!"

"Yeah, what're a few lives compared to winning millions in the California lottery?" quipped Xander.

"Anyone that would summon Orka would certainly be intelligent enough to maintain a low profile," said Giles.

At that moment, screeching tires and blaring rock music came cascading from out front of the shop as a red sports car skidded to stop next to the curb. The music cut off as the driver killed the engine, a young, red haired man sliding out of the low vehicle to look about like he wasn't sure of his location.

Xander trotted up to the door of the shop and jerked it open, calling out to his former friend from years ago.

"Richie, in here."

Richie turned and smiled, then walked around the new, shiny, red car to greet Xander. Following Xander into the shop, he looked about in amusement, apparently finding the entire place somewhat peculiar.

"This is Richie Golden," introduced Xander to the others.

Richie nodded and threw out a "hi ya".

"These are Buffy, Willow, Tara, Anya, and Mister Giles," finished Xander, each of the scoobies smiling or waving as they were introduced.

"So, what was so important that you wanted me to stop by after work?" asked Richie.

Casting an apprehensive glance at the others, Xander decided to be forward with the matter. "Remember those two murders you were telling me about this morning?"

"Yeah," said Richie, a bit hesitantly.

"We need to know if you can tell us anything about them that's not in the Coroner's report."

"How do you know what's in the Coroner's report?" asked Richie, suddenly looking suspicious.

"You don't want to know," said Xander.

"Uh, look, Harris, I don't know what you said to McCabe this afternoon, but after you left, he got a little red with me."

"Told you not to talk to anyone about the killings and all?" asked Xander, nodding while he talked, as if he knew how it all had gone down. "Threatened you with firing, and other physical punishments."

"Yeah."

"Not to worry, my friend," said Xander. "You have my guarantee that we won't breathe a word of this to anyone."

"Harris, I quit being your friend in grade school cause you kept narcing on me," admonished Richie.

"I did not," protested Xander.

"Taking the candy bar from Henson's store. Putting the caffeine pill in Jimmy Bunter's milk. Throwing your Ken doll on the roof."

"It was Willow's Ken doll," stressed Xander, turning to the others with a beet red face.

"Anyhow, the point is that every time I told you something, I got into trouble. This morning I was just bursting to tell someone about what was going on, and I happen to come across you. This afternoon, I get my ass chewed out by Doc McCabe five minutes after you vacate the premises."

"I said nothing to him," exclaimed Xander.

"Look, the real reason I came by was to tell you to stay away from me. You're nothing but trouble, even eight years later."

"We don't have time for this," said Buffy, striding up to the two men. "Yes, Xander causes a lot of trouble, but I can assure you that none of it is intentional."

"Hey," said Xander, looking hurt.

"But there's a lot more riding on this than your anger for getting into trouble over something you did to his Ken doll back when you were kids."

"It was Willow's Ken doll," snarled Xander under his breath.

"If there is anything at all that you can tell us, I would appreciate it more than you could ever know, and I can swear that no one will know that you told us."

Richie looked at Buffy thoughtfully for a moment, trying to decide if her word would be any better than Xander's. He saw a strength in her that intimidated those that she opposed, and behind that there was a sense of honor that he doubted most people could claim to posses.

"If you saw the reports, then you know everything," said Richie, deciding in Buffy's virtue. "No body has a clue as to how these people were actually killed, but there was a call that came in from the police just before I left. They wanted the Doc to check and see if any type of gardening tool might have been used."

"Gardening tool?" asked Giles. "Why on the earth would they ask that?"

"I don't know," said Richie. "Doc McCabe just said that he doubted it, that the wounds would have been smoother than they were, but that he would double check it."

"If you hear anything else, would you please let us know?" asked Buffy, putting on her best _I'm just a girl and I need your help_ face.

"Sure," smiled Richie. "Got to get going, though. Dad's flying mom to Greece for the weekend."

"Ouch, that's got to be kind of expensive for a weekend get away," said Buffy.

"Yeah, but since dad hit the lottery last week, he's been pretty much giving into her every whim."

"Your dad won the lottery last week?" asked Xander, looking back towards the others with wide eyes.

"Yeah, pretty cool isn't it? Bought me my ride, and promised to hand over the title for it as long as I stay in school."

"Nice," said Buffy, straddling up to Xander. "Say goodbye to your friend, Xander. We've still got some homework to finish."

"Oh, so this is like a study group," thought Richie. "That explains the, uh, mixture."

"What's that suppose to mean?" asked Willow, feeling like Richie was referring to her and Tara.

"Well, the old guy, he's your tutor, right?" asked Richie.

"Yes. Yes, I am," said Giles, drawing himself up proudly.

"Hey, that's great that you all help each other like that."

"Good bye, Richie," said Xander, opening the door.

"I didn't think you went to collage, though, Harris."

"Thanks, bye-bye, talk to you later," said Xander, pushing his friend through the door.

Xander turned back to the group to find them all looking at him with smirks on their faces.

"What?"

"Did that evil boy throw your Ken doll on the roof?" asked Buffy, trying to keep from giggling.

"It was army Ken," admitted Xander. "He was very macho."

Night was quickly descending on Sunnydale, and Speilman was growing fearful that morning would bring another victim to their list. He and Anna had searched Carpenter's house and work shop, and had not found a single clue as to the identity of the mysterious gardener named Binn, and he just knew that fate was conspiring again them.

He had been suppose to meet Terri two hours ago, and could imagine the anger that was boiling within her. Things always seemed to get in their way, driving a wedge between them, and he truly believed that this would be the final blow their already weakening relationship. There was no way that she was going to forgive him, not after he had cut short their trip, and though it hurt, he knew that it was for the better.

She deserved a better life than he could give her. She deserved someone that could be there when she needed them, sharing in her life in a way that he knew he would never be able to.

Yes, he had needs too, but he would be damned if he was going to ask someone else to make such sacrifices just for his happiness. One day he would meet someone that made a difference in how he looked at the world, but until then he wasn't going to keep dragging other people through his mishmash of a life in hopes that it would work out.

"You're being awfully quiet," commented Anna as they pulled up to the front of the police station.

"Just got some things on my mind."

"Going to let another one go, aren't you," she said. It wasn't a question, she had been his partner too long, and knew him too well.

"Yeah," he admitted. He had never lied to Anna, and he wasn't about to start now. God knows she had come to him plenty of times with her own problems. Too many times for him to feel any sense of shame at things that were going on in his life.

She had nothing to say in response. She had been there herself, finding that others were often unwilling to be second to what they both thought was a greater calling. It hurt her, to see him like this, and she thought again of how she wished she could just hold him and tell him that everything would be okay. She knew that it wasn't exactly bull shit, that someday things would be okay, but the trip getting to that day was often a long and painful one.

"It's for the best," said Dave, though he knew he could have sat there in the silence with her and not have felt uncomfortable in the least. "I keep doing this to her, and I've got no right."

"I'm sure she'll understand, Dave."

"I know. That's the part that hurts. That'll she'll understand. I can't give her the type of love that she wants. I know that she feels that way for me, but I can't give it back to her. Why should I let her keep hanging on, waiting for me to make time for her?"

"Do you love her?"

There, she had asked it, the question that she always asked him before he broke things off with who ever he was seeing. She knew that he wouldn't lie to her, and if he admitted that he did, then he would know that what he was thinking of doing was wrong. Teri had lasted longer than any of the others, and Dave deserved the chance to face his true feelings, no matter how mixed up they might seem, and this was how Anna always got him to straighten out his emotions.

"No," he confessed. "Not like I should."

"Then you're doing the right thing."

"Yeah."

"Come on," she said, opening the car door and filling the interior with the dim glow of the overhead light. "Let's see if Jenson's had any luck watching Meryick."

"Why not?" he asked, climbing out of the car. "I'm sure this night couldn't get any worse…well, not in my personal life, any ways."

Jenson had parked a good distance from the Beaumont residence, the in-laws that Joe Meryick was staying with, and had then radioed Dave and Anna that they could leave. It wasn't five minutes after the two detectives had left that Joe Meryick walked out of the house, telling his watching and worried brother in-law that he was just going for a long walk.

That had been the truth, the walking spanning nearly two hours, and taking Joe and the trailing detective to downtown Sunnydale. Jenson was beginning to think that maybe Meryick had snapped, that he was out on an aimless walk that would take him nowhere and end up with the man wondering how in the hell he had gotten there, when Meryick finally stopped before the dark exterior of a small shop.

The name was barely discernable, the dark blue letters blending in with the settling night, but Jenson was able to make out the name Binn and he knew that Dave and Anna's suspicions had been proven correct. He watched as Joe tried the front door then, upon finding it locked, made his way to a nearby alley to apparently search for a rear entrance.

The sudden vibration of his cell phone nearly made Jenson jump from his hiding spot, and he stifled a curse as he pulled the small phone from the inside of his jacket.

"Jenson," he said.

"Tom, it's Dave," came Speilman's voice. "Anything happening?"

"You've got a great sense of timing, buddy," said Jenson. "Guess where I just trailed your boy to."

"Binn's!"

"You got it. Down on the square. You might want to get down here, it looks like he's going to lay in wait for our lawn boy."

"Jesus, he couldn't even wait for us to question the guy?"

A rough looking pick-up truck, a mix match of green and rust, pulled up in front of the dark shop, and young, blonde haired man stepped out of the truck, looking about nervously.

"Hey, you ain't going to believe this, but I think lawn boy just got here."

"Where's Meryick?"

"Don't know," replied Jenson, watching Binn grab a duffel bag from the back of his truck and head for the shop. "He went around back of the building."

"We'll be there in five," said Dave, his voice huffing as he was apparently racing for his car. "Keep him from doing anything stupid!"

"What if this is our guy?"

"Then keep him from doing anything!"

"Yeah, this'll be interesting."

Jenson clicked off his connection and slipped the phone back into his jacket as he started jogging down the side walk, anxious to catch up with Binn before he entered the shop and possibly walked into the waiting arms of Meryick.

"Well, well, well," said Spike, spotting Buffy as she neared the Magic Shop. "Back from patrol so soon?"

"I'm not on patrol yet," she growled at him, offering only a curios glance at the man that just ran past them. "I was on a surveillance mission."

"Your Boy Scout's not back, is he?" asked Spike, peering into the shop. "Military slang's so unbecoming to you."

"No, Riley's not back," said Buffy, entering the shop. "I was following up on someone that we thought might be a demon."

"Oh, really. Why didn't you just ask me? I know most of them that're in town, even if they're not too fond of me."

"Why didn't we ask him?" wondered Anya, overhearing the two's conversation as they entered the shop.

"Richie," said Xander. "Father won the lottery. Obvious candidate for being an Orka worshipper."

"Orka?" asked Spike, looking surprised. "What in the bloody hell are you all wondering about 'em for?"

"He's in town, and killing people," informed Buffy.

"Not very bloody likely," said Spike, a look of amusement on his face.

"Why? Because William the Bloody lives in Sunnydale?" mocked Buffy, not feeling in the mood to trade jabs with the vampire.

"Because he's dead," replied Spike, leaning in so that his face was only a few inches from hers. "Been dead for, oh, about a hundred twenty years."

"What?" demanded Giles, stepping briskly over to Spike with the leather bound tome in his hands. "It, it, it says nothing here about him being dead."

"Rupert, how old is that book, hmm?" asked Spike. "I was there when he got the raw end of the deal, so to speak."

"Okay, this is a bad thing," said Xander. "Now we have no idea what we're dealing with again."

Spike sniffed at the air, a faint coppery scent coming to him, the likes of which he hadn't experience for a while. He continued sniffing, oblivious to the others as they drifted together, blabbering about what they were going to do now.

"Will you all shut up," called Spike, taking deep whiffs of air.

"What are you doing?" asked Buffy, annoyed that Spike would start barking orders at them while they were in crisis mode.

"I smell blood," he said, heading for the front door. "Fresh, violently spilt blood."

"Lead the way," instructed Buffy, grabbing a sword from a rack on the wall.

The contingent trailed behind the sniffing Spike, conversing in hushed voices that were mostly remarks about Spike's new found use. Ignoring the soft banter, Spike stepped outside and immediately turned right, stopping at the door to shop next door.

"There," said Buffy, pointing to the stoop before the front door.

A very small pool of red was visible, looking like it had been smeared into the building, hidden by the closed door. Stepping quietly up to the door, and trying its knob, Buffy made a shushing sound to the others. Applying a little Slayer strength, Buffy twisted the knob until there was a dull crack, the insignificant lock within the knob snapping in response.

Pushing the door open gently, Buffy's enhanced vision picked out a form huddled over another that was laying prone on the floor. The stench of blood and death assaulted her senses, and she knew that an act of evil was being committed at this very instant.

Slamming the door open, leaping at the hunched demon with a cry, Buffy landed firmly behind him, sword at the ready to end his life. The huddled form let out a scream of surprise and rose up, whirling around to face the attacking Slayer.

The demon was a blonde haired male, his face soft but with a haunted look that sent a chill through Buffy for some reason. He brown eyes were burning with the same murderous intensity that she had seen in other eyes that belonged to creatures of the dark, and she briefly glanced down to the victim sprawled on the floor.

It was the man that had ran past her and Spike only a few minutes ago, his abdomen ripped open and spilling entrails in a grisly sight that made Buffy shudder with revulsion. Her eyes moved up to the hands of the demon, covered with blood and echor from his victim, and her brow creased in confusion as she saw that he was wearing thick gloves that had what appeared to be giant claws attached to them.

"You're human," said Buffy in a shocked whisper.

"I really don't want to be," said the man, lashing out at the stunned Slayer.

The claws tore into Buffy's stomach, ripping her open just like the dead man sprawled on the floor. Spike leapt to her side, grabbing her as she stumbled backwards from the attack, her hands covered in blood as she fought to keep her insides from falling out.

Vamping out fully, Spike turned to scream at the man with a fury and rage that reminded even his comrades that he had once been William the Bloody, terror of all that were human. Damn the chip to bloody hell, but he was going to rip this man to shreds no matter what pain would tear through his body and threaten to kill him.

The gun shot was small, no more than a pop actually, and the killer wearing demon hands stumbled forward, a bullet hole in his back. Remaining upright, a look of confusion on his face, Binn stumbled around to see Joe Meryick standing in the rear doorway of his shop, his brother in-law's .38 in hand.

Joe fired again, and again, and again, putting the last five shots into Binn's chest and propelling the man backward through the window of the shop. The shattering crash of the glass faded away to be replaced with the scream of sirens, two cruisers and an unmarked car screeching to a stop in front of the shop.

"Hold on Buffy," cried Spike, cradling the Slayer in his arms. "Don't you bloody dare die on me!"

Giles was there, applying pressure to her wound, looking at her with a deep concern born out of the love that he felt for her.

Xander was holding Anya, tears streaming down his face in disbelief.

Willow and Tara were holding hands, whispering words of power to call up a healing spell as tears burned at their eyes.

"Do you hear me, Slayer?" shouted Spike. "Bloody hell, Buffy, don't you leave me!"

Dave Speilman ran up to the shattered front window, saw the bleeding girl, and ran back to his car to call for an ambulance. His mind screamed out that he had to save her life, that now was not the time to worry about the other body he had briefly glimpsed, that the one still alive was more important than the one laying dead.

Anna Long entered the shop, pausing briefly as she looked at the group, then ran back and took the gun from Joe Meryick's hands. The gun that he had still been firing, it's empty click barely discernable above the cries of anguish over the wounded girl by her friends.

"I got the bastard," said Joe, his face wet with tears.

"Yeah, Joe, you got him," offered Anna, wrapping her arms around the man as he collapsed into a sobbing bundle.

Buffy heard every sound, was aware of every action that went on around her, and knew that her friends would always be with her, no matter what came into their lives.

Just before the blackness engulfed her senses, she heard Spike yelling at her again, swearing that he would do what ever he had to do to make things right with her.

ONE WEEK LATER…

The priest finished the ceremony, stepping aside to let those present say their final good byes to the woman that they had all known so dearly, a calming peace in his soul at seeing that she had had so many friends and loved ones.

Giles stepped away from the crowd, his head lowered in respect, and joined the others as they stood around a wheelchair confined Buffy, a sad smile on his face.

"You really shouldn't be out here," said Rupert, gently.

"I know, but I felt I should be. That poor man's wife was a victim of that psycho, and he probably saved some of our lives."

"Yes, I will give the man that."

"I hope those ass holes let him go," said Xander, staring at the two police officers that had escorted Joe to the funeral.

"Go easy on them, Xander, they're just doing their job," said Willow. "I can't imagine that it's an easy one at that."

Xander grabbed hold of the handles to Buffy's wheelchair and carefully turned her around, anxious to leave the depressing scene.

"I'm sorry that I got you all into this," said Xander, feeling a heavy burden of guilt over Buffy nearly getting killed.

"Xander, it's not your fault," said Buffy, for what she swore was the hundredth time since she came out of surgery.

"Hey, I'm the boy that cried demon, remember."

Buffy grabbed the wheels of her chair, halting it instantly, and causing Xander to almost bump into her.

"Xander Harris, front and center," ordered Buffy.

Xander was there in a flash, some long buried instinct of his soldier boy persona kicking in, and he stood before her with his head hung low.

"Xander, this was not your fault. This was the result of the actions of a very sick man. It makes no difference that he wasn't a demon. It just reminds us of something that I think we sometimes forget."

"What's that?" asked Xander.

"That some monsters are human," she said, looking up at him with a sad smile. "We might stand against the things that most people don't even want to know about, but think about the things that they face."

She nodded towards Dave and Anna, escorting Joe Meryick back to the car that they had arrived in.

"They have to face humans that are worse than some of the things that we deal with."


End file.
